


All or Nothing

by ryssabeth



Series: Metropolitan Art [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Homeless Character, M/M, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryssabeth/pseuds/ryssabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has never done anything by halves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All or Nothing

If his drinking habit is any indication at all, Grantaire has never done anything by halves. College was a hit-or-miss (a miss, now, obviously). Alcohol gripped him by the throat and has yet to let go of him, digging its fingers into his skin, nails biting deep into his muscle. And so now is the case with _Enjolras_ , a deity peeled from the gilded ceilings of the gods, captivating the motions of his wrist as an arched brow takes form under the tip of his pencil.

( _This is problematic_ , he thinks, doing nothing to stop the man’s face from leaping from the page.)

Enjolras is—and this really isn’t surprising, Grantaire should have seen it coming—a soul that feels _tyranny_ at every corner, and throws of the _shackles of oppression_ wherever it’s needed. The soul of the sun ( _wow I need to stop reading shitty poetry books at convenience stores_ ) seeks out and exposes crime, showing it in a tiny college newspaper that is trying _so_ hard.

(But Grantaire—despite the _urge_ to get along, despite the _desperation_ to be liked by this being carved by loving hands—knows crime and oppression for what it truly is, and couldn’t stop himself from saying so.

 _“It’s human nature_ ,” he’d said.

Eponine’s apartment had fallen into stunned silence.

And so the arguments had begun.)

So the arched brow is coupled with a disdainful twist of the lips upon the page and even that is strikingly beautiful, which _sucks_ because even a rendered _drawing_ makes his guts twist as if someone had grabbed them and wrenched them tightly to one side.

( _Just think!_ He tells himself, using the fluorescent lighting of the Metro 2 train station coupled with the fading natural light to work some shading onto Enjolras’ neck. _He’d like you even less if he knew you were a liar and an alcoholic._ )

He’s going to need a new sketchpad soon, most of the paper having been given away to children, or filled with drawings of the angel with the pursed lips.

( _And at least,_ he hums, _one of the drawings found a good home_. He snorts a laugh to himself when he remembers Feuilly’s face as he’d said _“you found it!”_ , pointing to the picture poking out of his pocket.)

Grantaire flips down all the pages that he’s kept on the sketchpad, pausing on the page where he’d captured Enjolras’ embarrassed face almost in full (it had been _priceless_ , he’d spluttered like a nervous primary school girl when Grantaire had complemented his heavenly good looks).

That’s his favourite sketch so far.

And as the sun finally stops letting light into the Metro station, Grantaire pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and breathes out a miserable huff of air. “This,” he says again, this time aloud, “is problematic.”

And he _really_ needs a drink.


End file.
